It Shouldn't Have Happened Here by StarryEyedWriter8
by The Devil's in the Details
Summary: Forks is a small and safe town, but a series of murders leaves the town shaken and afraid. Who's responsible for the crimes? And who's next?


**Title:** It Shouldn't Have Happened Here

 **Summary:** Forks is a small and safe town, but a series of murders leaves the town shaken and afraid. Who's responsible for the crimes? And who's next?

 **Pairing:** Bella

 **Rating:** R

 **Word Count:** 7,459

 **DISCLAIMER: Twilight and its inclusive material is copyright to Stephenie Meyer. Original creation, including but not limited to plot and characters, is copyright to the respective authors of each story. No copyright infringement is intended**

 **BELLA POV-**

The parking lot of Forks High is scattered with students huddled together in groups of three or more, standing still as statues. They're frozen, not even reacting to my truck sputtering and clanking as I slowly drive through the lot, looking for a space to park.

Their heads are close together and bowed down, staring at the ground with unseeing eyes. Some of them are holding hands, clasping the others so tight their knuckles are white.

This is much more than being hungover zombies from the endless parties that occurred over the weekend. Rumors have been flying around school last Friday about the multitude of parties occurring that night and ending early Sunday morning.

I had made a vow to myself that I would stay far away from them, not wanting to be puked on, screamed at in a drunken rage, or hit on; my friend Angela Webber, however, had begged me to go with her, at least for an hour. I caved and went with her to party number one, hosted at some random junior's house, hoping to get popular.

Within thirty minutes, Angela's crush had shown up, and she had abandoned me with my blessing, and I had taken off, escaping to my haven.

I drive by more students, peering closely at them and noticing that quite a few of them have tears streaming down their faces. They don't bother to wipe them away or pretend they're not crying. Some of them are barely standing; the people around them are hoisting them up so they don't fall to the ground.

"What the hell," I mutter to myself.

After pulling into a parking space, I gather my things and hop out of the truck, heading toward the nearest group, which includes Angela. Another unfamiliar girl stands near her, wearing a too-tight sweater and skinny jeans, leaning against an equally unfamiliar guy, crying into the arm of his letterman jacket, now smeared with makeup.

"Hey," I quietly greet them, coming to stand next to Angela. "What happened?"

She blinks in shock, her eyes wide, red, and watery behind her glasses. "You haven't heard? Your Dad didn't mention anything?"

My backpack strap begins to slide down my arm, so I shift it up higher while shaking my head. "No. He was gone when I woke up."

I had assumed he was covering for another officer or taking a double shift to help at the station, which has been pretty normal lately. He's always helping his officers like that because many of them have families with young children. While he takes his job seriously and expects everyone else to do the same, he also believes in spending time with your children as much as you can. It's a little ironic to me since he's hardly at home with _me_ , but when he is home, he dedicates ninety percent of his time to me. The other ten percent is dedicated to his "me" time when he needs to decompress.

Besides, Dad doesn't share much about his work life; the only things I hear about are petty crime and vandalism. I know there are more serious crimes happening in and around Forks, not to mention to the world. I'd have to live under a rock _not_ to know.

Dad, however, doesn't like to talk about the more serious problems he deals with as a member of law enforcement.

My seven-year-old self asked him why, and he said, _"Bella, sometimes the world is dangerous and mean, filled with hurt, anger and pain. Forks, while not immune to the world's influence and problems, is a good town. It's safe. There's hardly any trouble here. It's why we moved here when you were little. I want to protect you for as long as I can."_

Now, I'm a lot older, ten years older to be exact, and while I'm still young, I think I'm old enough to hear about his job. Dad doesn't think so, though. After a while, I simply stopped asking even though I'm still curious about what he does.

 _Oh, well. Maybe one day, he'll tell me._

Angela leans toward me, her words shaky. "Lau—Lauren's body was found outside of the woods this morning."

At her words, the other girl sobs louder, prompting the guy to wrap an arm around her and lead her a few steps away, whispering quietly.

My heart races in my chest and thunders in my ears, blocking out all outside noise. I don't even realize I'm falling over until Angela reaches out and grasps my arm, holding on to it tightly. I smile in thanks and grasp her hand back. An unsettling feeling washes over me, and I teeter on my feet. Angela reaches out to steady and I smile at her in thanks, grasping her hand tightly.

 _Lauren. Lauren. Is she the one in Biology with me? The one that sits in the back and talks? No, that's Ashlyn or Ashley. Who is Lauren, then?_

Sensing my confusion, Angela explains further. "Lauren Mallory. She's a … _was_ a senior," she amends, her voice thick. "Brown hair with red highlights and hazel eyes?"

Nodding mutely, I realize why she hadn't been familiar. She's a year ahead of me. I mostly keep to myself, and normally, the seniors don't hang with the underclassmen. Angela is the exception since she's taking senior level classes as a junior.

Vaguely, I recall seeing her sitting at the lunch table with Angela, but I never spoke with her that much, a few words here and there but nothing in depth or meaningful.

"Oh," I reply, my tone somber. "What happened? Did they say?"

She shrugs, sucking her lower lip into her mouth, her eyes welling with tears before finally falling down her cheeks. I wrap an arm around her shoulders, giving her silent comfort.

Once she's collected herself, she speaks. "Eric's dad found her while he was on his run this morning. Eric said his dad sprinted into the house and threw up in the middle of the kitchen. He didn't say anything about what he saw, but he said … he thought it was murder. Someone _murdered_ Lauren. Oh, it's awful. Who could do such a thing?"

Her last words come out as strangled as the sob she was holding in comes out. My free hand comes up to cover my mouth to keep my own emotions in check. Angela and I lean against each other, staying that way until the bell rings.

Slowly, the students slowly walk through the doors, various teachers and office staff standing by and murmuring soft words of comfort. Angela and I stay close together, leaning on one another as we make our way to class.

Halfway to the door, we pass by a small group of students looking visibly shaken, but one of them stands out immediately—Edward Cullen.

There's not a hint of emotion on his face or in his golden brown eyes. His eyebrows are slightly drawn in, looking almost as if he's studying us with barely concealed amusement. When his eyes pass over me, his amusement becomes more pronounced.

Surprised and anxious, I jerk my gaze forward and focus on the back of the head of the person in front of me as I follow them in.

There have been whispers about him around school, saying how strange he is and how he creeps people out.

I didn't see it before, but I do now.

 _What is wrong with him? Why would he smile at me?_

A heavy silence is draped across the whole school. Even the teachers are soft-spoken as they give their lessons, their expressions somber and radiating sadness.

There's no one running around in the halls, no one playing practical jokes or bullying the underclassmen, just dismal expressions and movements, followed by quiet murmurs in desolate tones.

Ninety percent of the students are reminiscing about Lauren, speaking about how much of a wonderful person she was and how they don't know how they'll go on without her. It makes me wonder if they really knew her, or if they're just saying it for attention.

By the time lunch rolls around, Lauren's locker is decorated with pictures of her, notes addressed to her, and various stuffed animals placed on the floor amongst the pile of flowers. One flower in particular stands out the most: a blood red rose with a black lace ribbon wrapped around the stem.

It's an odd choice because there's only one as opposed to the bouquets of carnations, daisies, and wildflowers.

It makes me wonder when and how someone had the time to do something like that, considering we're not allowed to leave.

The morning announcements, which were delivered by the principal instead of the office helper, remind us to be kind to our fellow students, be vigilant of our surroundings, and if we need, there's a counselor waiting to talk. Before he signs off, he mentions that leaving the school grounds during school hours this week is strongly discouraged, which means don't do it. If you didn't get the message, the teachers standing by the exits tell you clearly.

Strangely, Edward has been showing up everywhere. Walking past my classes, passing me in the hall, and nearly bumping into me outside of the cafeteria a few moments ago.

I expect him to speak or laugh, mentioning the close encounter, but he simply stares at me unblinkingly, his head cocked to the side like I am some experiment.

Rushing past him, I head into the cafeteria, and for once, the crowded space offers solace and comfort instead of headaches and agitation.

Taking my seat next to Angela, she notices my nervousness and places a comforting hand on my arm.

"You okay?"

I nod, and my eyes reluctantly drift over to Edward, where he's sitting with four other people, looking laid-back and unaffected by the gloomy atmosphere. He attempts to talk and make a joke—if the smile on his face is any indication.

Whatever he says garners no response. His tablemates look at him, unamused, and he shrugs, looking away, scanning and studying the students around us once more.

"You're staring at Edward Cullen. He's a senior," Angela offers, following my line of sight. "I don't know much about him. He's kind of keeps to himself and his own circle of friends." She nods her head toward the others sitting with him. "I mean, I share a few classes with him. He's been polite enough when I've spoken to him."

I nod and shrug when she asks why I'm staring at him. "No reason. I almost ran into him a few moments ago. I was checking to see if he was pissed."

She lets it go and turns her attention to Ben and her other friends when they call her name. Feeling hungry, I mumble about getting something to eat and head toward the line, the back of my head suddenly feeling hot and my skin prickly.

My throat tightens and I clear it, garnering a dirty look from the person in front of me, who spins around, a glare on her face.

"What?"

"Nothing," I reply, picking up a tray and blindly grabbing the food that's being offered. "Just a little tickle in my throat."

She spins around again, her long brown-black hair nearly hitting me in the face. "God, why do I have to go to school with freaks?" I hear her mutter.

I'm stunned for a second. I hadn't done anything to warrant her hateful words. I can't help my body's natural reaction to feeling strange, and apparently, that makes me a freak.

Rolling my eyes, I decide to let it go and count to ten, breathing evenly and slowly. It would do no good to confront her. In her mind, she's right, and I'm wrong. She's the normal one, and I'm the freak.

Besides, it's been a weird, emotional day. Maybe she's lashing out because of Lauren. Grief makes people act strange sometimes.

At the front of the line, I quickly pay for my meal and immediately freeze.

Edward sits five feet from me, that same smirk on his lips as he stares, his head tilted to the side. My mind fills with images of me in a glass box on display for the world to see and study—or, more correctly, for _him_ to see.

I don't know how long I remain standing there, grasping my lunch tray with white knuckles and my heart thundering in my ears. All I know is when one of his friends grabs his attention, I'm free, and I can feel my feet taking me away towards Angela's table.

I eat in silence, listening to others talk about organizing something for Lauren's parents through Angela's father's church. They brainstorm ideas in between tears, repeating how they can't believe something like this happened, especially in Forks of all places.

"Who do you think did it?" one of them asks.

A heavy silence falls over the table as eyes shift, looking from person to person with slightly accusing and fearful expressions. Pensive stares are directed at everyone within a twenty-foot radius, each of them most likely going through various scenarios of whether or not their classmates are capable of murder.

"Enough," Angela says, her tone firm and her face hard. "Let's not do this. We're not going to accuse anyone of anything. Until we know more, let's not create more chaos and heartache. The police department is working on this. They'll figure it out."

My face heats as everyone turns to me, their eyes hopeful and pleading for reassurance all at once. I'm not sure what they want me to say.

I have faith in my father; he's a smart man and an excellent cop, but nothing is definite in this world-nothing is guaranteed. Can I really say for sure that he'll catch the person responsible, especially when he doesn't speak to me about his job?

I suppose it doesn't matter whether he can or not. They want reassurance, and that's what they'll get.

"They'll be caught. My Dad won't stop until he catches whomever did this."

There's a long moment of silence, and then they breathe a simultaneous sigh of relief and go back to planning and brainstorming.

Behind me, I hear an odd sound, especially for today. A low, throaty chuckle makes me turn to see Edward strolling by, looking at me from the corner of his eye with that same smirk on his lips. Unwillingly, my eyes narrow, and his smirk grows into a full-blown smile. He turns his body slightly as if he's going to come over but pauses as the football-playing looking guy next to him smacks his shoulder with the back of his hand and shakes his head.

Edward turns toward his friend and laughs. "What?"

His reply is lost as they walk further away, walking through the double doors and out into the hall. I breathe a sigh of relief, and it doesn't go unnoticed.

"You, too, huh?"

I turn to the person in front of me, meeting Mike Newton's knowing expression. I'm confused as to what he's referring to though.

"What?"

He nods his head toward the cafeteria doors. "Cullen. He's weird. Always hanging around the woods and being all cryptic," he says, hostility clear in his words. "He has a strange sense of humor, too. Morbid, even."

I'm not sure I agree with his reasoning for why Edward is strange. For me, he's strange because he's been smiling and smirking like nothing bad has happened. Plus, he's been everywhere I turn when I haven't seen him but once or twice before today.

However, Mike thinking he's weird because he loves the outdoors and has a morbid sense of humor? I'm not sure that should classify him as weird.

I'm saved from answering him as the bell rings, signaling the end of lunch. We all rise and throw out our picked-over food, heading to our last classes of the day. I can only hope that I won't see Edward again; the twenty times today have been enough for me.

Teachers stand outside of the school, a few of them talking to red-eyed students with tearstains on their cheeks. The others stand by, their eyes scanning the parking lot worriedly, but they hide it behind strained smiles.

For the first time, the parking lot is silent. Aside from the rumbling of engines from cars starting and slowly leaving, the only sounds coming are from the quiet murmurs of the students reassuring each other, and the teachers offering comfort to grieving students.

With a heavy sigh, I throw my backpack into the cab of my truck and wave goodbye to Angela. I'm eager to go home and see if Dad is there; I have so many questions for him. I know he probably won't answer them, but I feel like this time, he can't ignore this. It's too close to home now.

Driving down the road, I spot a silver car in my rearview mirror following close behind me. It's incredibly dangerous for them to be so near to my bumper; if I stop unexpectedly, they'll crash directly into me.

My eyebrows furrow together as I attempt to keep my eyes on the road and attempt to see who is behind me. Once I see that smirk, I know.

My hands tighten on the wheel, the faux leather of the steering wheel cover squeaking in protest. My foot presses the gas a little harder, pushing the vehicle to go faster. The silver vehicle doesn't speed up but still stays behind me, the smirk a little more difficult to see, but I know it's there. I can feel it, almost as if I can feel the heat of his eyes on me.

A few minutes later, I pull into my driveway and twist around, looking out the back window. Though the silver car speeds past my house, I can see Edward's face turned toward me, his eyes somehow zeroed in on my exact location.

Mike's words from lunch come to back me, and I wonder if I should say something about the things Edward has been doing.

I shake off the thought. Sure, it's a little strange he's been everywhere, but he's technically done nothing wrong; Edward and I live in the same town and go to the same school. We're bound to run into one another sometime.

My paranoia is probably due to the events of today.

Inside, the house is empty though I can tell Dad has been here. There's a half empty cup of coffee on the kitchen table and dirty dishes in the sink from his lunch. From the haphazard way the chair is pushed in and disheveled rug in the hall, I'd say he left in a hurry.

Straightening and cleaning everything, I put away my backpack and change into clothes that are more comfortable. I need some fresh air, and I think my daily walk will do just the trick. Being sure to leave a note for Dad, I grab my cell phone and pepper spray and set out into the drizzly weather. Maybe it'll calm my nerves.

Fifteen minutes later, I'm coming up the driveway just as Dad pulls in, looking like he's aged ten years since I saw him yesterday. His face is haggard with deep wrinkles around his dreary eyes and mouth; his hair is dull and lifeless.

He sees me coming up the driveway and frowns deeply, a stack of folders in his hands. "Bella? You shouldn't have—"

"I know," I quietly reply. "But I needed some air."

He nods in understanding and leads the way into the house, the files slapping down on the wooden surface of the table. He collapses into the chair with a heavy sigh, running a hand over his face.

Wordlessly, I grab a beer from the fridge and hand it over. Dad smiles in thanks before taking a hefty sip.

We sit in heavy silence, a thousand questions running through my head just like I'm sure he's got a thousand things running through his head.

When I can longer hold my tongue, I blurt out the question I've thought of asking him since this morning.

"Was Lauren really murdered?"

Dad groans with a grimace, shifting in his chair. It squeaks in protest, seemingly in tune with his mood. "Bella—"

"You don't have to give me details." I rush to answer. "But I would like to know if what people were saying at school is true."

Once again, Dad groans and takes a massive swallow of his beer, finishing the drink and setting the can down with a thunk _._

"I'm not discussing this," he says, his tone hard and signaling finality. He ignores my huff of disappointment and continues. "I will say this: keep your pepper spray and your phone with you at all times, okay? They're at your side at all times, understand?"

I take the pepper spray and phone from my pocket and set it down on the table. He smiles and nods, looking extremely exhausted and about to keel over at any moment.

Standing, I gather ingredients for a quick and easy dinner, so he can go to bed as soon as it's done. While I cook, he wanders off into the living room, turning the television on. He's not watching it, though. I peek in there just before dinner is done and see he's studying the files he brought home, a frown on his face and his eyebrows pinched together.

"Dad, dinner," I softly call.

He jumps and looks confused for a moment before comprehension lights in his eyes, and he nods once, closing the folders and setting them on the coffee table. His heavy footfalls meet my ears as he comes into the kitchen. He gets a glass of water, and just as he sets it down on the table, the phone rings, loud and shrill.

"Yeah?" he answers, sagging against the wall. He listens for a moment before straightening, becoming more alert as he listens to whoever is calling. "When's the last time they were seen? And who were they with?" He nods, his eyes distant. "Uh-huh. Okay. Yeah, yeah. Listen; keep 'em there. I'm on my way. Yeah. Bye."

Slamming the phone down on the cradle, he sighs and walks past me before shoving his shoes on his feet.

"Bella, I gotta go. There's an emergency. I don't know what time I'll be home."

"What happened?" I ask, following him through the house as he gathers his gun, badge, files, and coat.

Silently, he debates for a moment before answering. "A couple of kids have gone missing. I'm sure it's nothing, but we're not taking any chances." My eyes widen, and I clutch the fabric of my shirt, holding it tight in my fist. Seeing my stance, Dad comes over, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry. Like I said, I'm sure it's nothing. Probably just some kids blowing off steam after today, but we're not taking this lightly. Try not to worry. Now," he says, opening the door. "Lock the door and make sure the windows are shut and locked. Don't answer the door for anyone. If you feel nervous, call me."

I attempt a smile, but it doesn't work. "Okay. Wait," I say, remembering dinner. "Do you want me to pack you up some dinner?"

Dad shakes his head. "No time. I'll get one of the guys to make a diner run. I'll see you later."

"Be safe!" I call out just before the door closes.

I stand there for a long moment, the only sound I hear is my own heartbeat thundering away in my ears. I swallow thickly, pushing down the unease swimming in my belly.

I simply cannot believe how today has turned out. Before, Forks hardly had any crime. Sure, there were a few robberies and a couple of assaults but nothing like this. Now, there's been a murder and two kids have gone missing?

What is going on?

Unfortunately, now there are only questions and no answers.

A slamming door followed by a loud curse jolts me from my sleep. I freeze in my bed, trying to control my gasping breaths and carefully listen to the stomping and repeated cursing coming from downstairs.

Once my heart has slowed and my anxiety lessens, I recognize the voice—Dad.

Downstairs, my eyes widen as Dad pours himself a glass of scotch and throws it back before pouring another. I've never seen him drink this much in my entire life.

"Dad?"

He turns around, a sheepish and apologetic look on his face. "Sorry, Bella, go back to bed."

I ignore him and move to stand next to him. "What happened?"

He gives me a sharp look in response, the answer clear on his face. I start to turn around and head back to my room, but he softly calls my name and beckons me over.

His chin drops to his chest as he exhales heavily. I stand in silence. The only sounds I hear are the gentle hum of the fridge and the rhythmic ticking of the clock in the living room. Taking a few deep breaths before meeting my eyes, Dad takes my hand and leads me to the kitchen table, pulling out a chair and gesturing for me to sit. When I do, he reaches forward and places his hand on mine, squeezing softly.

Scattered across the table are various folders and pictures, all of them ghastly and horrific. They're of three different people, two girls and one boy, one of them I recognize instantly.

Mike Newton.

His skin is pale white, littered with black and purple marks, covered with thick layer of red from head to toe, saturating his hair and turning the color a dark pink from its original honey blond.

I know what the red is: blood.

One of his arms is tucked underneath his back at a weird angle, and angry red slashes mar the skin. His torso has the same treatment, some slashes appearing shallow, while the others are so deep you can see the white of his bones.

The other two girls, one I recognize as Lauren, look the same as Mike. Bruised and bloody with angry red slashes across their bodies, their limbs in awkward and uncomfortable looking positions almost as if they were tossed uncaringly.

"Jesus," Dad says, scrambling to push the pictures back into the folders. "Are you okay?"

I nod absently, the image of those photos burned into my brain. "Is it … was it …"

Dad sighs heavily, placing his hand back on mine. "Yeah, honey. They were murdered. Mike Newton and Bree Tanner were found just a little while ago."

I gasp, the crime scene photos flashing in my head again. I don't recall who Bree Tanner is, but I had _just_ spoken to Mike earlier this afternoon.

"I know. It's shocking. Do you … do you recall anyone they both knew? Someone that has a connection to them and Lauren?"

"Not really," I reply, shrugging. "I didn't know Bree or Lauren. They're seniors. Mike and I shared a few classes, but we don't have a lot of mutual friends, just Angela. Other than that, I don't know."

"Are you sure? Have you noticed anything strange?"

I shake my head. "No, I don't think so. Why?"

He starts to reply, but shakes his head and snaps his mouth shut. "No reason." There's a beat of silence and then Dad clears his throat. "I'm calling for a curfew, so keep that in mind." I nod. "Good. Now, go get some sleep. I'll be down here if you need me."

Rising from the table, I head upstairs and look back when he calls me.

"Be careful … and don't worry, okay?" I can tell there's something more he wants to say, but he doesn't. Instead, he looks down at the stack of files in his hands, spreads them out on the table, and studies them.

The tortured and despondent look on his face burns itself into my brain. I can still see it when I close my eyes and in my dreams; it's everywhere I look, along with those grisly crime scene photos.

A week passes by with no news, leads, or suspects around the murders, much to the frustration and fear of everyone. There is a heavy fog of tension and fright shrouded on the town. You could practically feel it when you step outside; everyone is terrified it is going to happen again, so they are being extra cautious.

It's a good thing, too.

A few days after the news of Mike's and Bree's murders, another body was found.

Peter Crowley.

I didn't know him, but a lot of people did, especially the seniors. From what I have heard, he was Tyler's older brother, visiting from college. He had gone on a run around the block, and when he didn't return an hour later, his parents called the police.

He was found four hours later, his body in the same condition as the others, leaving no doubt that it's the same person responsible. The only problem is, there are no clues as to _who_ it is.

From what I've overheard from my father talking with other officers, the killer has left behind no evidence, no skin samples, no hair, no fingerprints, and no idea to catch them. They don't go after the same type of person- girls, boys, ages, they're all different and have nothing in common except for Forks. For them, I'm sure it seems like there's no way to catch this guy.

Dad is understandably frustrated, working himself practically all day and all night. He eats in between looking at the case files and takes cat naps throughout the day.

My father, along with the other deputies, has increased patrols around the town, much to the relief of the town. Many people have thanked the officers, stating they feel better now that there's a constant lookout for the person responsible.

I pull into the parking lot, finding it in the same state as I had last Monday, though there are a few more spirited kids on the outskirts, giving the grieving students their space. Four teachers stand outside the doors, their watchful eyes scanning the parking lot as we wait for the bell to ring.

Angela is nowhere to be seen, but it's not a surprise. She hasn't been the same since the news of Mike came to light. Like me, she didn't know Bree or Peter that well, but it still didn't take away the fear and sadness of their demise either.

The following morning after Mike's and Bree's murders was made known, Angela had come over to my house, hysterical and sobbing. I was honestly surprised and shocked she was able to drive in the condition she was in.

She had fallen into my arms as soon as I had opened the door, her tears soaking my shirt.

"I had just spoken to Mike yesterday, Bella!" she had exclaimed. "We were planning a memorial for Lauren at school … we were planning on doing something for her parents! How? How did this happen? Why?"

I didn't know the answer, and I didn't know what to say, so I just held her and let cry on my shoulder. When she was a little more composed, I told her to go home and get some rest.

Angela's boyfriend, Ben, gives a half-hearted wave as I walk up to the entrance, and I stop to ask him if he's heard from her.

He does a combination of a shrug and head shake. "No. She mentioned her family might be leaving, though, going out of state to stay with an aunt. I don't know if they've left or not. She's not answering the phone, and my parents won't let me go out once I get home."

I nod in understanding and jump as another girl comes towards me, her eyes red-rimmed and her skin blotchy with patches of pink.

"You could be next," she says through her sobs.

Ben steps up, pulling her back. "Hey!"

She ignores him, her eyes boring daggers at me. "You look like them! Like Lauren and Bree! You could be next!"

I stare at her with wide eyes, my breath caught in my throat. How could she say such a thing? If she's basing this on looks, then every single brown-haired girl could be a target … and there are quite a few of them.

Ben steps into my line of vision, directing another boy to take her away. He ducks down and looks in my eyes, putting a hand on my shoulder. "She doesn't know what she's talking about, okay? Just ignore her."

I nod absently and look around, not missing how everyone is now looking at me with wide, fearful eyes. I swallow thickly and spin around, heading inside as fast as I can.

Taking a deep breath, I calm myself down and remind myself that nothing will happen. I know how to take care and defend myself. _If_ something should happen, I'll be fine.

Silence falls as we pass by the memorialized lockers. Each of them is decorated with pictures, stuffed animals and flowers — a single blood red rose among them. It's strange how quickly the memorials popped up, but I guess it's not too strange since no one has said anything.

Maybe it's their way of coping and grieving.

"Sickening, huh?"

I jump and spin around, seeing Edward standing behind me, his eyes staring intently at the small groups of people gathered around Mike's, Lauren's, and Bree's lockers, silently weeping. A few of them sound hysterical from what I can gather through their hiccupping sobs. A couple of their friends aren't school today.

Their friends are attempting to reassure them, but they are adamant something terrible has befallen them. One of them that is the loudest mentions Kate Mitchell, a junior like me.

I'm not friendly with Kate, but I know of her. I had shared a couple of classes with her last year. She's nice and friendly enough when she wasn't with her friends, but when they were around, she had been intolerable. I never spoke to her, but I saw enough to know that she had some serious issues.

"Wh-what do you mean?"

He nods toward the groups of people. "Them. How many of them are actually grieving? How many of them feel sad their _friends_ are gone? I bet none of them are. I bet their so-called _friends_ would be the first to be shoved under the bus if they were given the option: them, or their friends? And what about you, hmm? What would _you_ choose if you were about to be killed?"

I shiver at the tone in his voice and scurry away, his low chuckle ringing in my ears.

 _What is wrong with him?_

Halfway through the morning, an announcement comes over the loudspeaker. The principal announces that school is cancelled, and everyone is to go straight home.

Immediately following the declaration, frenzied murmurs fill the classroom, spilling out into the hall. There's a rush of activity as students quickly gather their things and head outside, gasping at the sight of half of the police department in the parking lot.

They descend upon the officers, a flurry of questions melting into one loud hum as they talk over one another. My father steps away from the crowd as I approach, and he pulls me aside, a hand on my shoulder and a serious look in his eye.

"I want you to go straight home, lock the door, close the curtains, and don't go outside, you hear me?"

I nod, shifting the backpack strap up higher on my shoulder as it slips. "Yeah. I will. What happened?"

Dad sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Another body has been found, and another person is missing."

"Who?" I ask, almost afraid of the answer.

"Tanya Webber, Angela's aunt. She was found this morning. I guess she was coming to pick them up and disappeared warming the car."

I gasp, my heart lurching in my throat. Poor Angela. My mind fills with images of her crying face, and I know she's doing that and much more now. I want to do something for her, to make her feel better, but I know I wouldn't be welcomed now.

"And the missing person?"

"I'm not—"

"Is it Kate Mitchell?"

Dad blinks in surprise. "How did you know?"

"Her friends were talking about her this morning. They were worried."

He nods and shifts on his feet, his eyes meeting Deputy Marks when he calls out for my father. Dad holds up a hand and looks at me.

"Don't worry. We're searching for her. I'm going to say a few things to the students here and then go back out. I have my cell phone with me. Remember what I said, okay?" he says pointedly.

"Yeah, but, Dad … do you think—I mean, someone said these girls look like me."

A pained expression comes over his face. "Nothing is going to happen to you, understand? I promise. Now, go home and do as I say."

I nod, and he walks off, fielding questions from the frantic students. I jump in my truck, and just before I pull out of the parking lot, I spot Edward standing near the entrance of the school, his arms folded over his chest, his gaze directly on me.

His words come back to me, and I shiver again, the haunting tone of it reverberating in my head.

" _I bet their so called friends would be the first to be shoved under the bus if they were given the option, them or their friends? And what about you, hmm? What would you choose if you were about to be killed?"_

I triple check the locks on the doors and windows and sit on the couch, looking for something to watch. I bypass the news, not wanting to hear the details of the horrors going on around town. I hear enough of it at school.

Finally, I find something suitable and attempt to lose myself in the mind-numbing program. Before I know it, I've fallen asleep, the low murmur of the television lulling me to sleep.

I'm awoken sometime later by a soft shift of the sofa cushion behind me, forcing my body to fold inward. I don't open my eyes. I keep them closed and listen, wondering if I was just dreaming, but the sensation of fingers running through my hair jolts me awake.

Above me, a blood red rose falls into my lap, and I jump up, seeing Edward standing behind my couch with a sinister smirk on his lips.

"How did—"

"I have my ways," he replies, jumping over the sofa and sitting down like he owns the place. "Here you are … all alone. Probably for hours. I imagine by now, they've found Kate Mitchell."

A choked gasp leaves my lips as I freeze when Edward stands, slowly sauntering toward me with the same sinister grin. "She's a pretty girl," he whispers, his fingers brushing the strands of my hair resting on my chest. "Or she was … her pretty brown hair and blue eyes, so full of life are now dull and dead. Like her."

His words shake something within me, and in a burst of energy, I push him away and race into the kitchen, his stunned laughter following behind me. His pounding footsteps reach me quickly, his arms twisting around me like straightjacket, holding my own arms against my chest so they're immobile.

"You never answered my question, Bella. Would you choose your friends to die in place of you?"

I struggle against him, but he holds me tighter, molding his body against mine. Leaning forward, he presses his lips against my ear.

"No, I know the answer. You wouldn't ever be in that position, would you? No one would make you choose because there would be no choice to make, would there? Tell me," he says, his breath hot against my ear. "Do they know? Do they know your secrets? Do they know what your carry around in your backpack? Do they know how evil you truly are? Do they know you like I do?"

Lifting my foot up, I stomp it hard down on his foot. He hisses and releases me, my elbows falling hard on the counter. Spinning around, I push hard at his chest with a glare.

"You shut up!"

"Oh, come on!" He laughs, raising his hands as he takes careful steps toward me. "Your father wouldn't bug his own house."

I huff and push at him again, resisting his attempt to pull me closer. "That's not the point. There's a curfew. Police are everywhere! What is wrong with you?"

"The police are easy enough to evade if you know around the woods, which I do. Plus, no one even knows I'm missing. My parents are out of state at some charity thing or whatever." Still, he attempts to pull me closer, but I keep fighting him, slapping his hands away.

The playful gleam in his eye is replaced with irritation. "What's got you so pissy?"

"You," I hiss. "Those girls that look like me? What were you thinking?"

He shrugs, leaning against the counter next me. "Hey, I can't take credit for all of them. _You,_ as I recall, were the one to off Lauren."

"Doesn't matter," I argue with a glare. "Bree? Peter? Tanya Webber? That's too much. Way too much."

Once more, he shrugs. "So? I was bored. They have no clue who's doing it. Besides, we never agreed on Mike and Kate, now did we? Who's really to blame for going off script?"

I huff, crossing my arms over my chest. "I couldn't help it. He was talking about you."

He chuckles, taking a hesitant step forward and pressing a kiss against my temple. "I love how protective you are of me," he breathes. " _That's_ why I had to get Bree. She can't talk to you like you're trash."

"It's still too risky."

"Please," he replies. I can practically see the eye rolling from his tone. "It's child's play. Everything will be blamed on the drifter that comes through town every now and then. What's his name? Waylon? Watson?" He shrugs. "I don't know. Whatever. I already planted the evidence under Kate's nails."

I breathe a sigh of relief and finally allow myself to melt into his side. At least that's one less thing to worry about. His arms come around me, and he holds me tight, resting his chin on my head. After a few moments of silence, he chuckles, prompting me to look up at him in confusion.

"What?"

"Those idiots at school," he says with a laugh. "Can you believe them? Each of them crying like they'll never be the same, as if they really cared about them. They didn't even care until they were gone. Hell, they didn't even care to start the memorials at their lockers."

I gasp and narrow my eyes at him. "That was _you_?"

He nods with a laugh. "It was hilarious! Everyone was taking credit for it. _'Oh, they were my friend. I'll miss them so much! It was the least I could do,_ " he mocks. "Please. Half of them didn't know them, and those that did spoke so highly of them when the previous week they were driving them in the ground, planning their demise. It's sickening. They'll do anything for attention."

I nod in agreement and slip my arms around his waist, resting my head against his chest, listening to steady strum of his heart.

"Let's cool off now, okay? At least for a little bit."

"Fine with me. Everyone will be in a frenzy for quite some time. It'll make an interesting show. The question is, however, can _you_ hold off?"

"Of course."

He shakes his head, laughing. "I don't think so. You're too much of a monster like me, baby. You live for the thrill."

I want to prove him wrong and rub it in his face, but I know he's right. It won't be long until the feeling calls me again. Until then, I can only hope the monster within me, within us, is satisfied for the time being. Hunting again so soon after these recent murders is too risky—and Edward and I have too many plans for the future.

No one will know what hit them.


End file.
